


A Home in Acadia

by Mothtrap



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Acadia, Gen, Nick is only mentioned, gen 2 synths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothtrap/pseuds/Mothtrap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A group of lost and confused second generation synths come to Acadia, hoping to find a new home. DiMA welcomes them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Home in Acadia

“The Institute is destroyed. Nick Valentine said we should go to Acadia. We mean no harm,” one of the synths said, apparently their elected spokesperson.   
  
DiMA peered down at the small group of second generation synths from his vantage point on the dome’s elevated platform. He couldn’t quite hide his surprise, this wasn’t at all what he had expected after this morning’s briefing.   
  
He exchanged glances with Chase, who had escorted the small group inside. She hurried to put away her gun. The ex-courser took security very seriously; faced with an unusual situation like this, he couldn’t blame her.   
  
_ Nick Valentine _ . DiMA pondered as he looked at each of their faces in turn. He suddenly found himself transported back in time, towards a memory of his brother and himself inside the Institute.  _ His _ face, yet unburdened by a hundred years of wear and tear, had looked exactly like theirs.   
  
Something like warmth spread through his gut as he relaxed, a friendly smile transforming his features.    
“You are welcome here,” he said softly. “And safe.”   
  
The small group of synths blinked in return, their black and yellow eyes luminescent in the early morning gloom. They looked at each other for support. It was suddenly obvious to DiMA that these synths had already formed a sort of… community. Bemusedly, he observed some of them sporting various articles of clothing. Hats, scarves, even paint across their cheeks. Had these lost souls already found something akin to… to an identity?   
  
“Do you have names?” DiMA asked kindly, knowing that would be the best way to figure this all out.   
  
The synths once again looked at each other and a low murmur broke out, before one of them spoke up.   
  
“Dollface,” they said.   
  
“...Kiddo,” said the one who had greeted DiMA.   
  
“Sweetheart!” said one with stripes emblazoned across their cheeks.   
  
“...Hey-you-don’t-touch-that,” said another.   
  
DiMA chuckled softly as he listened to each of their names in turn, then he opened his arms in a way of greeting. “A pleasure to meet you all,” he said.   
  
In his mind, he thought:  _ Dollface? Kiddo?  _ He had the distinct feeling that Nick would have something to say about all this.   
  
But they seemed so… lost, so… vulnerable. DiMA couldn’t help but feel his protective instinct taking over, an instinct that had driven him to found Acadia in the first place. Chase seemed to think the same, as her expression had softened once she heard the synths utter their names.   
  
The commotion had obviously attracted attention, because DiMA could see a small crowd of people forming in the corridor behind the synths, craning to look over each other’s shoulders. This wasn’t something that happened every day in Acadia, after all.   
  
After a few moments of thought, DiMA spoke with his denizens and decided to assign one or two synths per person, and request them to help them on their way.   
  
It was clear that the “Gentoos”, as they were quickly called,  _ needed direction _ . As much as they had managed to develop an identity of their own, they still adhered to the rigid programming the Institute had imposed them with. They needed “orders”, they needed “purpose”.    
  
DiMA hoped that, slowly and with time, these things could change.   
  
He didn’t even know if it was possible, having very little knowledge about how the second generation synths were constructed and how much they differed from the prototypes, himself and Nick.   
  
Later that day, he visited Cog and the synth who had introduced themselves as “Hey-you-don’t-touch-that”.   
  
Cog chuckled as he leant over his shop’s countertop. “Well, they’re a hard worker, that’s what I say.”   
  
DiMA observed the synth rapidly stacking boxes onto shelves. They promptly stopped once they spotted the synth leader looking at them and wandered over.    
  
“Do you require assistance?” they said.   
  
“Not to worry, Heyou.” Cog patted the synth on the arm. “ _ Heyou _ ” looked down, the gesture puzzling them.   
  
DiMA shook his head. “I am simply making sure everyone is well taken care of.”   
  
Heyou cocked their head, their piercing, intense gaze somewhat unnatural, but not altogether surprising. “I am in perfect operating condition,” they said.   
  
The old synth chuckled, smiling warmly. “Yes, but  _ how to do you feel? _ ”   
  
“I… feel...” Heyou said slowly, narrowing their eyes in deep thought. DiMA could almost  _ see  _ the processors whirring. “Good?” The small questioning inflection was interesting. “...Thank… you?”    
  
Cog nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, that seems about right. You’re pretty happy-go-lucky fella, aintcha?”   
  
Heyou frowned again, clearly accessing their database to figure out a few of those words. “Yes,” they finally said, a small smile playing around their lips. Their hand moved up to the scarlet bandana around their neck, seemingly holding it for comfort. “Everyone here is so kind,” they continued, their eyes surveying the room they were in, small groups of synths and gentoos communicating and learning and generally getting along.   
“I did not think we would find a home here. I thought you would turn us away.”   
  
“Of course not,” DiMA said, reassuringly. “Synths like you and like Cog are the whole reason Acadia exists.”   
  
Heyou gave a small nod. “Kiddo said so too. She trusted Nick.”   
  
_ She?  _ DiMA thought, pleasantly surprised to find another hint of individuality there. It appeared that these synths were, perhaps, developing at different rates. Heyou in particular still seemed confused by a lot of concepts.   
  
“You don’t trust Nick?” DiMA asked, curious.   
  
“Oh, I do!” Heyou said, slightly shocked. “I just never thought any place would… would accept us. The Institute was our home.” They looked down at the countertop, sadness obvious in those mechanical eyes. DiMA felt the strongest surge of sympathy he had felt in a long, long time.    
  
He reached out and touched the gentoo’s shoulder, who briefly flinched to that unfamiliar sensation, but quickly relaxed.   
  
“I hope, that with time, maybe this place can be home for you, too.” DiMA spoke quietly.   
  
He spent the rest of the day getting to know each Gentoo individually, until he finally approached the “leader”.   
  
“Hello, Kiddo,” DiMA smiled by way of greeting. He was briefly amused how that unnatural that term sounded, coming from his mouth.   
  
“Hello, DiMA,” she nodded. Kiddo wasn’t wearing anything in particular to set her apart, but she didn’t need to. There was a determination in her eyes that DiMA could tell from miles away.   
  
“How are you settling in so far?” he inquired.   
  
“Things are… good here.” she folded her arms, a peculiar quirk. “It’s everything I expected, and more.”   
  
DiMA noted the use of contractions. “I am glad to hear that.” He looked around, pleased at the sight of all the synths, gentoos or otherwise, working together. “Some of the, uhm,  _ gentoos _ , here, seem to think you’re their leader.”   
  
“Leader? No.” She shook her head. “We all worked together to get here.”   
  
“What your group’s history?”   
  
“After Home got destroyed I escaped with a few others. We picked up more synths along the way. We… lost some too.”   
  
DiMA’s expression turned sad. “I can’t imagine life in the wasteland was easy for you.”   
  
“No,” she said firmly. “I knew we had to be somewhere safer. I heard of Diamond City. The city turned us away at first. But then, Nick Valentine.”   
  
“My brother.” DiMA’s eyes brightened.    
  
“Bro-ther?” Kiddo cocked her head, accessing memory files. “I remember Valentine calling you that, too.”   
  
_ He did, did he? _ DiMA thought to himself, a happy feeling settling in his non-existent stomach. “Yes, we were prototypes. Essentially like you and the others, but with the purpose of developing personalities.”   
  
“Personalities,” Kiddo parroted again, then she nodded slowly. “I understand.”   
  
“So, what happened in Diamond City?” DiMA went back to the topic.    
  
She lifted her head slightly, shaking herself from her thoughts. “Valentine has a good… reputation. He convinced the others to let us stay, at least for a little while. They realized we were no danger.”   
  
“Valentine sheltered us, talked to us. However, he also knew he couldn’t look after us, and that living in Diamond City would be… difficult. So he told us about Far Harbor - about Acadia.”   
  
DiMA nodded. “That was definitely the best decision he could have made.”   
  
Kiddo looked around at her kin, a certain fondness in her gaze. “A lot of us really… took… to Valentine. We all looked up to him. He was everything we never were, or could ever hope to be. Even if we didn’t realize it. It - took some convincing for us to leave.”   
  
DiMA chortled under his breath, briefly imagining Nick struggling to get some awfully clingy synths to leave his office in Diamond City. “You will all be fine here. Here you have virtually unlimited time to explore who you want to be.”   
  
Kiddo turned soulful eyes towards DiMA; something in them glistened. “It is strange. Gaining. Awareness.” She cradled one of her hands in the other, experimenting with the gesture. “Back home… I mean, in the Institute… we were formatted every time one of us would start to experience anything resembling “personality”. We never questioned it, that was our way.”   
  
“I admit, I never knew your generation was capable.”   
  
Her eyes observed DiMA’s silhouette, his myriad of tubes and wires. “You are of our generation, too.”   
  
“I suppose so. Maybe me and Nick were not so special after all. Perhaps I was just a control group, allowed to develop on my own without the wipes and reformatting our kind would normally undergo,” DiMA sighed. “But there is no way to know now. And really, it doesn’t matter.”   
  
Kiddo nodded firmly, determination in her eyes. “Thank you, DiMA.”   
  
“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @solesurvivorsophie @littlekiwifrog @ghoulkisser95 @bigwinged on Tumblr, all whom contributed something to this adorable little headcanon. I just had to write a little fic about it.
> 
> Yes I know Gentoos are a type of penguin. I thought it was cute.
> 
> I might or might not write more fics about these lost souls. I still want to play around with a bunch of them trying to mimic Nick Valentine, and DiMA gently encouraging them to develop a personality of their own.


End file.
